


Linger

by el3anorrigby



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Clueless Illya, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Obvious Napoleon, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 11:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: Five times Illya tries to figure out what Napoleon’s kisses mean, and the one time he gets it and responds in kind.





	Linger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaijusizefeels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/gifts).



> I promised you an angsty with loads of hurt/comfort fic but that one will come later (I hope!). So, for now, this little story is yours! I hope you like it :)

The first time it happens is a fairly unexpected surprise. 

They are both drunk after an obligatory successful mission party, but Illya insists he is all right because he can still, more or less, handle himself. But Napoleon, Napoleon is a hopeless cause. He is out of it. He could barely take the stairs alone without tripping and that is how Illya finds himself trying to drag the man up to his apartment.

Successfully reaching Napoleon’s floor after much hassle, they stop in front of the door and as Illya is about to reach for the knob, Napoleon catches him from behind, his arms almost hanging onto Illya’s shoulders.

“Peril,” he drawls, nuzzling Illya’s neck, his chest pressed up against Illya’s back. “You’re being so nice to me.”

“I am being a good friend,” mutters Illya as he gazes back at Napoleon. 

Quietly, he figures the hug from Cowboy doesn’t seem inappropriate, and he allows Napoleon to draw him closer. But when Napoleon’s nuzzling does not cease, Illya is left a little bit flustered and he tries to hide his embarrassment.

“I should have left you at Waverly’s party. Told you not to drink too much. But luckily for you, Cowboy, Gaby convinced me otherwise.”

“Ri-ight. I should thank Gaby then,” Napoleon breathes out, the gust of warm air tickling Illya’s neck. A shudder runs through him and Illya really needs to do something about their predicament or he is going to end up pushing Napoleon down the stairs.

While he contemplates what he wants to do, Napoleon has already leaned upward, dragging the tip of his nose along Illya’s neck, and ends up kissing his cheek. Illya practically freezes in place, the slight drunken haze in his mind gone instantly.

Napoleon then untangles himself from Illya, grinning, and like he has not done anything wrong, gets to the door and starts fumbling with his key. When the lock finally opens, he turns around to face his still stunned partner.

“Thanks, Peril,” he starts, sounding suspiciously sober, and then yawns broadly. At the sight, Illya is suddenly reminded of how cats yawn, showing all of their impressive sharp teeth. “Thanks for getting me home. Good night.”

Napoleon yawns again in the middle of the word, and Illya can only watch as if entranced, how Napoleon throws his head back, throat barred, and, catching himself doing this, hastily looks away.

“Good night,” he replies, starts to get down the stairs, and after hearing Napoleon’s door click shut, he curses under his breath. 

_“Chyort.”_

Was Napoleon really drunk? Or was it all an act? Cursing again, Illya hurriedly leaves but while on his walk back to his own place, Illya absentmindedly touches his cheek where Napoleon’s lips had touched him and decides not to dwell on the matter.

After all, they’re both drunk.

 

2.

 

The second time it happens, they are both stuck in a safehouse, a sort of a remote cabin in the woods.

“Drink. It’s whiskey.” 

Napoleon, injured, plucks the said bottle of cheap liquor from Illya’s outstretched hand and takes a large swig before Illya proceeds to clean Napoleon’s wound on his thigh and knee with a cotton gauze. Napoleon hisses at the contact, but doesn’t stop Illya from tending to his injury. 

“You are lucky it is just flesh wound. A broken leg would be terrible,” Illya says. Napoleon just hums because he cannot disagree with his partner. They have had to jump from a fast moving car while trying to escape their very determined assailants, and like Illya had pointed out, it could have been a lot worse.

“It’s not fair. How come you got off unscathed?” Napoleon begrudgingly asks Illya whose eyes are trained on his task at hand. His fingers are tender on Napoleon’s raw skin and despite Napoleon’s repeated grumbling and whining, Illya takes it all in his stride. Probably the pain medication has made it worse for Cowboy.

“I am agile. KGB agents are trained like that.”

Illya doesn’t have to look up to know Napoleon is rolling his eyes. Once done with his bandaging skills, he smiles at Napoleon. 

“You feeling comfortable?”

“It’s getting chilly in here,” Napoleon says.

Illya at once crosses the room to check on the windows, locking the shutters in place. He feels sorry that they are stuck there, but with no other options, they would just have to wait it out. He stokes the fire in the small fireplace and the room soon brightens considerably.

“We’ll stay here for the night. Hopefully Gaby and team will arrive early tomorrow morning.”

With the fire crackling in front of them, Illya takes his place beside Napoleon on the small sofa, every now and then checking on Napoleon’s leg. 

“You said it’s just a flesh wound. So it’s nothing to be too worried about.”

“Yes, but it getting infected is also a serious matter.”

“Damn, you are heaven sent, Peril. What would I do without you,” Napoleon suddenly murmurs as he leans back against the thin cushions, his eyes watching Illya carefully.

Illya’s face flushes red, and the light from the fire just highlights his blush further, making Napoleon chuckle. “It’s the truth.”

“This is no time for jokes,” Illya chides him but Napoleon only grins. 

“If we get drunk, it’ll be funnier.”

He gestures at the half empty whiskey bottle on the table, raises an eyebrow at Illya hoping he gets what he is insinuating, but Illya only scowls at him. The medication has definitely gone to Cowboy’s head.

“You are injured. Alcohol is not going to help you.”

“Oh, but it did help me earlier,” Napoleon replies and winks and Illya has had enough of the American’s teasing. 

“I’ll see what we can have for dinner,” Illya says quickly before Napoleon can suggest more of his ridiculous ideas. Illya stands up, pulls a blanket over Napoleon, but his eyes soften instead when he sees Napoleon’s sad pout. 

“What?”

“Why won’t you indulge me?”

“I will indulge you with food, Cowboy.”

He leans forward, meaning to smooth the hair off of Napoleon’s forehead but then Napoleon pulls him in by his shirt sleeve, surprising him by placing a quick kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you, Peril,” Napoleon murmurs, mouth still against Illya’s skin and Illya has to fight the tremor he feels at Napoleon’s innocent words and touch.

“I’ll make soup,” is what he manages to say after a beat or two and Napoleon smiles.

As the warmth of the fire fills the entire cabin, Napoleon watches Illya make his way to the small kitchenette and closes his eyes as he drifts off to sleep, misses how Illya’s eyes watch him in return. 

 

3.

 

The third time is a little trickier.

After a particularly tough and draining mission, they crash on their office sofa, sitting with knees touching without saying a word. Sometimes the heaviness of silence helps, and Illya in particular, relishes it. He loves the quiet, and with Napoleon by his side, the moment is almost perfect. If anyone were to ask him why Napoleon is in the equation, he won’t have the answers but just knows that it is what he wants.

“You think Waverly will give us our much needed vacation after this?” Napoleon breaks the silence after a while. 

Illya turns lazily to look at him and then his eyes are trailing down Napoleon’s throat and to his chest where a few top buttons of his shirt are undone. Illya inhales deeply. He closes his eyes, chastising himself for even thinking of his partner in a way that he is not supposed to. In fact, he has been thinking about Napoleon a lot more than usual lately.

“Maybe,” Illya mutters an answer and then there is silence again. But it only lasts for a few seconds.

“Hey, Peril?”

“What now, Cowboy?”

“Thanks.” 

It is a low rumble of his voice and this time Illya properly looks at the American by his side.

“What for?”

“For staying. I mean, you didn’t have to.”

Napoleon had muttered that he didn’t feel like going home because he was too tired and Illya had suggested they should stay the night. “The sofa’s big enough for us two,” he’d said and Napoleon had agreed to the idea.

“You sure you won’t miss your bed?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” is what Illya wants to say, but instead, he just shakes his head. “It’s no problem, Cowboy,” he replies and suddenly, daring to risk it, he puts an arm around Napoleon’s shoulders. Happily, Napoleon leans into it, nuzzles his head at the crook of Illya’s neck. Illya stays still but when Napoleon kisses his skin, he almost jumps. 

“Napoleon,” Illya whispers like a warning but Napoleon just places another kiss on his cheek before muttering his thanks again. Their eyes lock. It must have been minutes, probably just seconds, and then Napoleon is leaning his head on Illya’s shoulder once more.

They don’t say anything after, because Illya does not dare to. They have never ventured further than those touches they’ve shared between them and it looks like it’ll stay that way for the night as the clock ticks away with Illya’s heart pounding against his chest before they eventually succumb to tiredness.

In the morning, Illya is the one to pull his arm away from Napoleon. He is as quiet as he can be as he makes his way towards his desk, and out of the corner of his eye, he watches Napoleon stir. 

“Good morning,” Illya greets him when he wakes and laughs a little at Napoleon’s confusion. 

“We’re in our office,” Napoleon notes after a while and Illya nods.

He wonders if Napoleon remembers last night, that little kiss he had given him, and wonders if he remembers their little moment, wonders if he will ever mention it if he does.

But for his own sanity, Illya decides he will keep his mouth shut. Because he cannot ruin what he already has and that is Napoleon’s friendship. 

 

4.

 

The fourth time it happens is because Napoleon gets injured again. And this time it is worse. He has been unconscious for days and when he finally wakes, he finds himself on a hospital bed, one leg in a cast, one arm attached to an IV and his free hand being held firmly in Illya’s grasp.

Napoleon remembers what had happened. He was taken by a rogue CIA agent who has some kind of grudge on him, and after being held captive for days, he had managed to escape. But during the mad dash to get free, he’d gotten shot, ended up crashing his getaway car tumbling down a ravine. He had blacked out after but somehow remembers Illya pulling him out of the wreckage.

Speaking of the man, Napoleon’s heartbeat picks up at the sight of him nestled on a very small chair right beside his bed. He calls out to Illya, voice raspy and head still throbbing somewhat. 

“Peril.”

“Hey,” Illya replies, lips lifted in a relieved smile when he notices Napoleon has regained consciousness. He stands immediately, takes a single step and on reflex, grabs Napoleon’s other hand with his. 

“I’ll get doctor,” he says but Napoleon only shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay. I am good.”

“No, not really. You look terrible,” Illya counters as he places a hand on Napoleon’s temple where a bandage is covering his stitches and bruises. Illya wants to be angry for so many things, but knowing Napoleon needn’t a tongue lashing when he has just woken up, Illya quickly says, “but you’ll get better.”

Napoleon hums. He wants to ask so many questions, wants to say a lot of things, but his mind has gone blank at the way Illya is rubbing gentle caresses on his cheekbone. For a while, they remain silent with neither men saying a word to the other until Napoleon squints up at Illya.

“You look terrible as well, Peril.”

Illya merely scoffs. “Not your place to say that, Cowboy.”

“Were you that worried about me?”

At that teasing tone, Illya tries to pull away but Napoleon stops him before he can, catches his hand in a firm hold.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just missed you is all.”

Illya purses his lips, then lets out a defeated sigh. “In truth, you’d lost a lot of blood. So, yes, I was worried.”

“The man who got me,” Napoleon starts with hesitance. “Is he...”

“He is dead.”

Napoleon would like specifics, but Illya is reluctant to share the gory details of what he’d done to the man.

“Is not important. What matters is you are safe.”

Napoleon’s heart swells upon hearing this. 

“So, you’d been with me the entire time?” he asks Illya this after a while. 

“Yes,” the Russian says. “Sometimes, Gaby gets me to go home. But more or less, I’d stayed.”

Upon seeing the flush on Illya’s face at his admission, Napoleon smiles. His thumb rubs at Illya’s skin, the touch causing Illya’s insides to go haywire. He tries his best to keep it together, but not until Napoleon asks his next ridiculous question.

“Care to tell me why?”

Illya arches an eyebrow.

“Why I’d stayed?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You are curious?”

Napoleon shrugs, fails to hide that slight motion has managed to rip a sharp pain right through him. Seeing his grimace, Illya is on to him at once, worried, but Napoleon just waves off his concern. “I am fine, but you still haven‘t answered my question.”

Illya looks at Napoleon disbelievingly. He cannot believe the American is pestering him for an answer. 

“Please, Cowboy! I searched for you for days when that man took you! But then when I found you, you have one broken leg, multiple bullet wounds, and suffered a concussion! You were delirious with pain and your eyes unfocused the entire time. When I carried you in hospital, you’re trembling so much in shock, so of course, I was worried! I was worried that I’d been too late! And I had to stay to make sure you would be okay!”

“That sounds awful, that bit that had happened to me,” Napoleon quips, tries to make light of the situation, but then he does not say a thing again when he sees Illya is livid. 

After minutes have passed, after Illya has calmed, Napoleon thinks it is the best time for him to show his appreciation for the man. With much effort, he pulls Illya down to him and places a soft lingering kiss on his cheek. Words completely fail Illya at that moment, stuck in his throat and he could only stare at the man on the bed who never fails to drive him crazy.

“Thank you again, Peril.”

“Just get better soon, Cowboy,” Illya responds when his mind works again. Not knowing what else to say, he sinks back into his chair and takes a deep breath, looks up after a while only to see Napoleon’s eyes still on him, soft and filled with something familiar and Illya’s heart lightens, his mouth quirks up with a smile.

One day, they will talk about this, but for now, saying nothing is enough.

 

5.

 

The fifth time should not have been a surprise for Illya. 

A mission where either one of them gets injured is something they always hope to avoid but today’s close call on Illya’s life is too much for Napoleon to take. Illya has just brought him home from their mission debrief, and Napoleon is still angry, and still definitely on an adrenaline-high. 

Those are a dangerous combination on him.

And it is something Illya does not experience often.

“Cowboy, you need to take a shower. Get some rest. Get sleep,” Illya states evenly, hoping that this kind of pacing will calm Napoleon down. “I will see you tomorrow morning once you feel better.”

But Napoleon does not seem to listen. He is slowly pacing around his room, his gaze everywhere but at Illya who is starting to make a move towards his door.

“You do realise that you could have died earlier?” he suddenly spits out, and Illya, already halfway across the room, falters in his steps. “You’re one fucking selfish bastard to have let that happened.”

To say that it is the last thing Illya had expected to hear from Napoleon would be a huge understatement. But he is so out of words, he just stares at Napoleon, waiting for the next outburst, and Napoleon jumps right at him.

“I’m so fucking glad I killed him, Peril. I am so glad I shot that THRUSHIE because if I hadn’t, you’d be a dead man now.”

“Cowboy…”

“Because, of course, you don’t think about it, do you? You don’t think about what happens if you’re dead and I’m left alone in this world? What happens after? You...you never think about that. Of them coming after me? After Gaby?” Napoleon almost growls, getting closer to Illya, and Illya backs away until his back hits the door behind him. Napoleon almost crowds him, and his blue eyes are like daggers. 

“You don’t think about what happens to me without you.”

Napoleon sounds so utterly defeated at the end, and hopeless, that Illya cannot help himself from what he does next. He automatically grabs Napoleon by the arm and brings him into a hug, trying to comfort him.

“I would never leave you alone. I am sorry you think that way but I would never do that to you. You have to believe me.”

Napoleon, seemingly only then noticing he is in the Russian’s arms, and hearing the words Illya had said, returns Illya’s gesture in kind and tightens his hold on him.

“Don’t do anything stupid again,” he says slowly, voice a broken sob. “Because, god help me if I lose you.”

The phrase seems familiar, because that’s how many times already Napoleon has repeated the words, but before Illya can say anything, Napoleon grabs him by the collar and lean their foreheads together.

“You okay now, Cowboy?” Illya asks, trying to stay calm despite the situation. He looks at Napoleon, seriously creasing his brow as if trying to understand what is really going on in his partner’s head.

“Napoleon?”

“I get it now,” Napoleon mumbles, not easing his grip on Illya.

“What is it, Cowboy?” Illya asks softly. When Napoleon remains quiet, Illya tries again. “What are you saying?”

He does not get a chance to finish, because suddenly Napoleon mashes their lips together, and the world around Illya explodes. Napoleon doesn't just kiss him, he bites, not hard enough to draw blood but still rough and possessive, subjugating him, and Illya unconsciously leans into the kiss.

It seems like an eternity passes before Napoleon pulls away.

“I get it now why I feel this way,” Napoleon drawls slowly, his gaze burning into his partner, and Illya realises that, if he wants to know the answer, he ought to ask Napoleon about it. But he is afraid, and instead, he mumbles the last thing that is on his mind. 

“I have to get back,” he mutters, awkwardly straightening his shirt collar that is strangling him for some reason. “We’ll talk later”.

Napoleon gives him a sad disappointed look and nods. Abruptly, he lets Illya go and gets back to the middle of the room before falling down onto his sofa, as if the strings that has been holding him upright, were cut. And Illya tries not to look back at Napoleon when he walks out the door.

Illya considers not visiting Napoleon that night, but the worry for his partner and the swirling questions in his head takes the best of him, and he finds himself right inside the room where he had left him earlier.

Napoleon is still on the sofa, this time asleep. Thankfully, he has had a change of clothes and his hair is damp from the shower. Illya comes closer and stills for a few moments before gently brushing a few strands of unruly hair from Napoleon’s forehead.

Sleeping, Napoleon looks calmer and so, so young. Unable to stop himself, Illya runs his fingers through the beautiful curls. He must be seeing things but he is certain Napoleon’s lips had curled into a little smile at his touch. A tight knot formed in Illya’s chest at the sight and trying to ignore what it means, trying to ignore what Napoleon must have meant when he’d said he understood his feelings, Illya quickly leaves the apartment again with his lips still feeling a bit raw from that bruising kiss.

 

+1

 

There is nothing charming about how Illya finally figures it all out.

A fellow UNCLE agent is dead after a mishap during Illya’s mission and after the funeral, Illya goes to his shared office with Napoleon instead of heading to his own apartment. There, in the darkness, barely brightened by the light across the building, he drinks and smokes, not really caring if Napoleon is going to hate the smell that will linger. The room is going to stink and then Illya is going to have to deal with Napoleon’s incessant grumbling.

Illya tries not to think.

Someone knocks at the door a short while later, soft but sure, and he tries to ignore the sound.

“Peril,” he hears Napoleon’s voice. “Open the door, I know you’re in there.”

Illya slowly gets up and moves to open the door.

“You always have key,” he greets his partner nonchalantly.

“Left it at home,” Napoleon shrugs.

Illya turns away in an instant. 

“How are you?” Napoleon then asks earnestly, even if a bit awkwardly, crossing the threshold, and Illya just hums, going back to the sofa. Napoleon follows him, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it carelessly over his desk. He then manages to undo his tie and drops on the sofa beside his partner.

“Hey, you okay?” he repeats his question.

Illya takes another drag on his cigarette which is still in his hand and mutters, “I am fine.” If Napoleon hates the sight of him smoking and drinking, he does not say a word.

For a while they just sit there in silence. 

Illya finishes his drink and cigarrette. And then he begins to talk. 

The mission was simple enough. They had to meet an informant and bring him to an UNCLE’s safehouse and Napoleon was supposed to have been there with Illya. But a last minute change of plans from Waverly meant Illya had to take a rookie agent with him instead. 

“It happened too fast. Car came out from nowhere. I should have known we were being followed. I could not save him.”

“I am sorry,” Napoleon finally says, turning to Illya. 

“I know,” Illya says, and, because apparently he should not have been drinking at all today, adds, while not meeting Napoleon’s eyes, “Now I am just glad that it wasn’t you there with me.”

His words are met with silence and Illya wonders if he has said too much.

But then Napoleon takes him carefully by the chin, turning his head, and kisses him, surprisingly soft and gentle, free hand tangling in his hair.

Illya’s eyes go wide in surprise just for a split second, but he responds to the kiss, because he has wanted this so badly but never felt like he is allowed to do so. But the agent’s unfortunate death just cemented to Illya that every day might as well be their last, and there is just no point in him waiting anymore.

They pull away from each other after the kiss ends, panting and gasping for air. Napoleon pulls Illya to himself, tugging at his shirt collar, until their foreheads touch and Illya closes his eyes.

“Don’t you dare to die on me too, Solo,” Illya says tiredly. “Don’t you dare.”

“I tried telling you this the other day. I even kissed you because of it, but you said nothing afterwards, so I thought I’d made a mistake,” Napoleon replies hoarsely, eyes still shut. 

“Sorry, I’ve been stupid.”

Illya does not want to think about the consequences of tonight, about their complicated lives, about what happens in the future. The only thing that matters is now, in that dimly lit room, having Napoleon living and breathing, so beautifully real, so unbelievably close to him.

Napoleon chuckles softly against Illya’s lips at the craziness of it all, and kisses him again, moving his hand to the back of Illya’s head and guides him to his shoulder. Illya obediently nuzzles his collarbone, his body relaxing instantly.

“Я люблю тебя,” he mumbles under his breath, hoping he wouldn’t be heard or understood.

But, of course, Napoleon understands and doesn’t miss a word.

“I love you too,” he exhales into Illya’s hair, without missing a beat, and for some reason, in the darkness, those words do not sound inappropriate at all for Illya.

In fact, it’s all he has ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> I typed this on my phone and unbetaed. Please forgive me for any mistakes.


End file.
